


May I Have This Dance?

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Free!
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Haruka Nanase is caught staring by the handsome stranger on the dancefloor, he expects it to end at his embarrassment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	May I Have This Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> aka an indulgent fluff fic that got away from me  
> enjoy C:

The couples on the dancefloor didn't inspire any particular envy in him. Haru was perfectly fine in the warm shadows of the bar booth, where the lights were pleasingly muted. He nursed a drink, his second, whiskey on the rocks, and he preferred it diluted with the ice, unlike his contemparies, who turned their noses up at the idea.

One of them was out dancing, with a pretty, silver-haired girl he'd just met; the other two at the bar, discussing something or another.

Haru didn't particularly care. He sipped at his drink, it was pleasantly smoky, eyes trying to follow the movement of the group as a whole. It was interesting for his eyes at least, while his mind tried to slip into autopilot, looking forward to home.

He tugged lightly at his sleeves, feeling stuffy, wishing Rei hadn't insisted upon the shirt, but he would put up with it each weekend, if only to give back one of the many allowances his friends gave him.

Rin was laughing, his step slightly out of time, Haru noted, and as he did so, he watched Rin bump into a taller man next to him, mouth moving in some sort of apology.

The other man waves a hand and shakes his head, still managing to keep in time with the music, spinning his partner with careful hands. Haru would have returned to his half-focused state, if not for the man's face.

It was remarkably expressive, warm, framed by neat olive hair, and his eyes, yes, they were a lovely green, an uncommon green. He laughed too, and Haru swallowed carefully as his entire face seemed to light up; there were two words for this man, utterly beautiful.

He smiles so brilliantly at the girl as the music ends, her hand carefully held in his, and they bow to one another. He looks up, and Haru feels himself freeze. Those green eyes have noticed his open, obvious stare, blinking curiously at him, smile relaxing.

Haru tears his gaze away, mortified. He must look so very strange, perhaps even disconcerting, sitting alone, tucked away in the corner, unsmilingly staring.

He stays focused on his drink, willing Nagisa and Rei to return, anything, watching the brown liquid swirl around as he shook it.

“Hello.”

The voice is sweet, and Haru's heart jumps to his throat as he looks up; it's the same one from the dancefloor, the one that caught him staring. He's wearing an ensemble of white shirt, black vest, and a cute dark green bowtie that so nicely matches his eyes.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks, blush dusting his cheeks as he holds out his hand.

“I- I'm terrible at dancing,” Haru replies, and the man tilts his head, smiling. It's even more riveting up close, eyes crinkling at the edges, soft and lovely.

“But would you like to?” he asks.

In response, Haru tentatively slides his hand into his proffered one, and it closes around his fingers, grip strong but gentle.

Haru's heart is pounding in his chest as he is led to the dancefloor, and he can see Nagisa and Rei goggling out of the corner of his vision; he never danced, at least not in public.

He's glad they have the sense to say nothing though, lest his nerve break.

He nervously looks at his feet as he stands with all the other couples, and his partner squeezes his hand ever so lightly. Haru raises his head, and his chest is seized with anxiety. He doesn't know how to dance, he knows the steps only minimally, he's going to make a fool of himself.

His partner seems to sense his anxiety, giving him an encouraging smile as the music starts, putting a hand on his waist. Haru can feel his skin tingle underneath the fabric, and his mind snaps to focus as he is gently pulled, moving carefully.

“See?” he says happily, as he shows Haru through the steps, “you're picking it up quickly- uh-”

“Haru, Haruka Nanase,” Haru almost whispers, certain he is going red.

“Haruka,” the man repeats softly, and Haru doesn't even want to correct it, _Haruka_ somehow sounds pleasant when he speaks it, “that's a beautiful name.”

“And yours?” Haru asks, surprised at his own courage, and not at all surprised by his quiet, shy voice. He catches Rin's eye as they spin, the redhead gaping. A few other people are staring too, some with disapproval, others simple curiousity.

“Oh!” his partner exclaims, and Haru's attention snaps back to the dance (shockingly, he has not yet stepped on any feet,) “it's Makoto, Makoto Tachibana.”

Haru continues to follow Makoto's guiding hand, soon slipping into the rhythm as he better understands the pattern. There's a flow to it, not just the set steps but also something else, a desire to become one with the music. It's a familiar feeling, soothing, and he watches as Makoto's face slowly lights up, becoming more and more joyous as they continue to move together.

The music ends far too soon, and Makoto squeezes his hand as they bow lightly, his cheeks flushed pleasantly, light sparkling in his eyes.

“Thankyou for the dance, Haruka. You are... ever so graceful.”

For a moment, Haru cannot speak, entranced, heart still thundering.

“Thankyou for the guidance,” he murmurs in return, feeling suddenly heavy, unsure of what to do. Makoto seems to pick up on his hesistation, smoothly leading them out of the throng.

“Would you like a drink?”

Nagisa might have been able to hold back his curiosity earlier, but as Haru approaches the bar with a stranger, a very handsome stranger at that, he can't resist any longer.

“Haru!” he cried, bounding over, Rei following with some embarrassment, “you actually danced! Wasn't it lovely?”

The last question is directly to Makoto, and Haru goes pink as he smiles warmly.

“Indeed it was,” he says pleasantly, “I'm Makoto Tachibana.”

“Nagisa Hazuki!” the blond chirps, as Rei nervously stands next to him, “and this is Rei! We're Haru's friends.”

“Rei Ryuugazaki,” Rei says, a little firmly, “a pleasure to meet you.”

They order drinks, and Haru is suddenly very thankful for their presence; the waters of conversation are the ones he usually ignores, but both Rei and Nagisa have their own charisma that could mask his lack thereof.

“Do you come here often? I don't recall seeing you before,” Makoto asks, seemingly as comfortable

off the dancefloor as he is upon it.

“It's so hard to get Haru out of the house,” Nagisa bemoans, “we had to go to a seafood restaurant just to get him out the front door.”

“I see,” Makoto says, sounding lightly amused; Haru tries to kick Nagisa's knee but misses, “well, I am glad you're here this evening.”

Polite conversation continues, but Haru wonders if he's imaging the way Makoto's eyes linger on him after speaking, and his heart palpitates every time they make eye contact.

He's not a night person, and he's fighting harder and harder to prevent yawning; he doesn't want Makoto to think he's boring him.

“Uh-oh, I think Haru's tired,” Nagisa giggles, and his godsend of a comment prevents another attempted kick to his shins on Haru's part; he's too grateful.

“I'm feeling quite fatigued as well, though it is a shame to leave such pleasant company,” Rei says lightly, and Haru meets his eyes briefly in thanks.

“Where's Rin-rin?” Nagisa asks, looking around, trying to clamber onto a stool for a better look. Rei puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

“I do believe he left earlier.”

Nagisa pouts.

“Without saying goodbye?”

“He looked in... quite a hurry,” Rei says tightly, signalling an end to that line of talking.

“I'll see you out,” Makoto says, and as they reach the doors, he takes Haru's hand.

“Until the next time we meet, Haruka Nanase, it's been a pleasure,” he says softly, and of all things, kisses him on his knuckles, smiling a little, “have a good evening.”

Haru's heart doesn't stop beating painfully, not until he's stumbled out after them, taking deep breaths of cool night air. Nagisa is vibrating with excitement, but Rei's grip on his arm prevents him from peppering Haru with exclamations.

The raven might not even have heard them, too occupied with the words imprinted into his brain.

_Until the next time we meet._

 

-

 

The next Saturday, Haru needs no nagging from Nagisa, nor wheedling from Rin, to accept their invitation. They are not surprised, because if it's one thing all three seem to share, it's no small degree of perception.

He is smoothing his collar, using his mirror for once, wondering if the navy is any good, frowning at the simple cut of his hair as it sweeps across his eyes.

He hurriedly answers a knocking on the door, and Nagisa topples in excitedly, and Haru is not surprised to see pink suspenders over his pastel yellow shirt; Rei can't stop his palette choices.

“Ooh, Haru, you look nice!”

“Uh.”

“Sorry!” Nagisa chirps, smiling slyly, “I meant you look drop dead gorgeous.”

“Wow, you actually do look somewhat presentable,” Rin says from the doorway, raising an eyebrow, “the iron not too much trouble, now?”

“And you're yet again in clothes easily removed,” Haru bites back, and Rin grins slyly, putting his palms up in mock surrender.

“Guilty as charged,” he laughs, hooking his arm around Haru's shoulders, “but I'll stick around long enough to meet this Makoto guy, promise.”

They go to a small restaurant that Nagisa confides Rei has been dying to visit, but Haru doesn't even think about ways to improve the meal, like he usually does. His feet are restless, his hands twisting his cutlery.

He all but jumps to his feet when his friends finally finish, and ignores the grins they give one another.

Haru would often be ready for bed by the time they arrive, but he finds himself full of nervous energy as they approach the music hall, unconsciously preening himself. Rei stops him just as they arrive, fixing and smoothing his collar, pulls a few bits of lint off the fabric, and adjusts his sleeve cuffs. He smiles primly when he's finished, and a rare surge of affection washes through Haru.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, not hiding it, and Rei looks pleased.

“You're welcome.”

There's more people this evening, most of them like themselves, adults not quite in middle-age. Haru is irritated, but that doesn't stop him making a beeline for the same booth, finding it blessedly empty. Light strains of music run in the background, but at the moment everyone is crowded in booths and around tables, chatting and laughing.

He's surprised when Rin buys them a round, but the smug look Nagisa gives him suggests that he's only just been forgiven for unceremoniously ditching them last week. Haru couldn't really care, Rin's free to do as he wants, but he knows he is the exception.

“So, what's this guy look like?” Rin asks casually, throwing an arm around the seat, taking a quick glance around the bar.

“Tall, brown hair, green eyes,” Haru replies bluntly, and Rin rolls his eyes, turning to Nagisa.

“He's like super handsome, really nice face, and his hair is all floppy like this,” Nagisa says, flattening his curls, “dressed really well too.”

Rin looks around again, and he and Haru spot him at the same time, talking to the bartender.

“Allow me,” Rin says with a grin, jumping out of his seat. Haru watches with some trepidation as he and Makoto start speaking, and feels a curious rush of displeasure as the brunette laughs at something Rin says.

“Don't be jealous, Haru,” Nagisa whispers with a giggle, but Haru doesn't take his eyes off the two, meeting Makoto's eyes as they approach.

“Good evening, everyone,” Makoto says, smiling, “it's nice seeing you all again.”

Rin pulls up a chair, gesturing for Makoto to sit next to Haru.

“I'll get frostbite if I try to sit there,” Rin jokes, “go ahead.”

Rin winks at the raven as he sits down, and Haru feels his brows flatten into a displeased look.

He feels oddly jumpy as they all talk, warm, keeping a tight grip on his tumbler, and now he can barely look at Makoto's face; he's suddenly so small, inadequate. He's draining his drink rapidly, not even giving time for the ice to melt entirely, anxious.

Nagisa's already finished, and is eyeing his partner off as couples start gathering on the dancefloor.

“Rei, let's go dance!” Nagisa says, cheeks already flushed, and doesn't wait for an answer to pull a protesting Rei towards the dancefloor. Rin is scanning the main floor, lighting up as he spots someone.

“Well, I'm not sticking around to third wheel, see you later,” he says, draining his glass and flashing them another toothy smile

Haru tries to glare, but he's too embarrassed. Makoto laughs good-naturedly.

“It was good meeting you,” he half-calls, as Rin retreats, and doesn't seem bothered at all by the wave he gets in return.

Haru is both thankful for Rin's leaving and extremely anxious about it, feet fidgeting where his hands can't. Makoto shifts in his seat to better look at him, leaning on his hand and smiling.

“Hmm, Haru?”

Haru quirks an eyebrow, stilling.

“I just realised that other than being blessed with grace, I don't know anything about you.”

If anyone else had said that to him, Haru would roll his eyes. So hard. Makoto's smile becomes a little mischievous as he reads Haru's face. Is he a mind-reader or something?

He leans forward, face softening into something else, that more intense look he only seems to adopt when it's just the two of them.

“I'll ask all the basics,” he says cheerfully, “favourite food, colour and a hobby.”

“Mackerel, anything with mackerel,” Haru replies, “blue... and I enjoy swimming. A lot.”

'Being embraced by the water' is not something he wants to admit to him right now.

“You really like fish?”

“Mackerel,” Haru stresses, “it's the superior fish.”

Makoto laughs at his straight face, nodding indulgently.

“And yourself?”

“Hmm... well, I'd say chocolate cake for food, I have a sweet tooth,” he replies, “I love orange, like, soft orange, and green is nice as well.”

He purses his lips a little, thinking.

“I know this is going to sound boring, but I do love to read,” he sighs, “and nice walks, and dancing with lovely people.”

Haru wonders if this strange inner bashfulness is showing on his face. Makoto winks, taking a sip of his drink.

“Oh! What's your profession?” he asks, “the other necessary question!”

“I'm a chef,” Haru says, and a delighted look comes upon Makoto's face.

“A chef, you say?” he replies, eyes starry, “which establishment do you work for, if I may ask?”

“Ah... The Golden Dove,” Haru murmurs, a name which is hard for his lips to even form, it's a ridiculous name for a restaurant. But Makoto's mouth opens; he seems very impressed.

“Truly, Haruka?” he gushes, goggling, “that is a fine restaurant indeed. You must be an excellent chef to work there. I could only hope to be half as good.”

He sighs, swishing his scotch a little.

“I'm a terrible cook, you see,” he bemoans, “I'm one of those people that burns toast.”

He looks slightly despondent.

“What do you do for a living?” Haru asks quietly, and the smile returns to his face.

“Oh! I'm a teacher,” he says, blushing slightly.

“A teacher? What do you teach?”

“Oh! All sorts of things,” he replies, “history, languages, geography, mathematics. I teach younger children, I love children.”

His smile is tinged with a slight wistfulness, and Haru feels a lump in his throat at the sight, oh.

The sound of a violin string, being tested with a few clear notes, sounds from the musicians, and Makoto perks up immediately.

“Care to dance with me?”

Haru nods.

The music is quick and light, and soon Haru is picking up new steps, trying his own, he and Makoto smoothly circling one another. He finds himself sticking less to structure and simply moving, hesitantly pleased by the clear delight on Makoto's face, his infectious laughter.

“The strings really make it, don't they?” he says a little breathlessly after their third dance, and Haru, not knowing all that much about music except when it sounds bad, nods.

As much as he would love to dance with Makoto all night, Haru can't avoid the fact he is simply not a night person, and Makoto senses his tiredness.

“Shall we locate your friends?” he asks pleasantly.

Haru nods, stifling a yawn. They find Rei and Nagisa near the door; Rei looking fretful, and Nagisa singing something in a cheery, slurred voice.

“Haruuuu, Makotoo!” he calls, and Rei purses his lips.

“We were going to get a taxi home,” Rei says, “would either of you like a seat?”

Haru nods, but Makoto shakes his head.

“I live not too far from here, I'll walk,” he says easily.

“Alright, well, it was nice seeing you again, Makoto.”

“Yeah, Mako, nice... seeing-! Haru's face-!”

“I'll go hail one,” Rei says hurriedly, half-carrying Nagisa towards the door, “don't be too long, please.”

A warm hand curls around Haru's as they follow, and looks at Makoto curiously. The brunet tilts his head, scratching his cheek with a finger.

“Ah, Haruka, may I ask you something outside?”

Haru pauses, because for the first time, Makoto looks hesitant, nervous. He nods encouragingly, and Makoto leads him onto the street. It's quieter than Haru expected, dotted with warm streetlamps, the rush of the sea faintly in the distance. He lets out a steadying breath, enjoying the cool night air on his flushed cheeks.

“Of course, Makoto,” Haru replies, “what is it?”

 

-

 

He pauses, hand hovering over the wood. He feels a little odd, arriving unannounced, but there had been no place to ask them last night. Nagisa was decidedly drunk, Rei was tired, and Haru was a little bit flustered.

Rei answers the door, looking slightly surprised, but pleased to see him.

“Ah, Haruka, good morning,” he says, smiling, “would you like to come in?”

The interior of Rei and Nagisa's house is a perfect blend of personality and function, and of course, absolutely stunning to look at.

Pretty, bright paintings adorn the delicately painted walls, the entrance hall painted a soft ivory colour, offsetting the walnut frames. Haru smiles slightly at the sight of Nagisa's feet propped up over the side of the lounge as he enters the living room, moving in time to the music coming from their radio.

“Haru!” Nagisa cries, dropping his book and racing over to give Haru a hug, “why didn't you say you were visiting?!”

“It is a pleasant surprise, Haru, but I must say I am surprised as well,” Rei says, walking to the kitchen, “I'll prepare some tea.”

“And some cake?” Nagisa asks, giving Rei a cute little smile, “because Haru's here?”

“Alright,” he relents, smiling softly, and Nagisa sits Haru down on one of the plush lounges, snuggling up to him while Rei moves around in the kitchen.

“How's your head?” Haru asks mildly, receiving a sly grin in return.

“It feels great!” he chirps, before sidling up to Haru's ear and whispering conspiratorially, “my back hurts like hell, though.”

Haru rolls his eyes, not rising even as Nagisa winks at high speed.

“Nagisa, can I have some help with the cake?” Rei calls, and Nagisa jumps to his feet.

“Anything for cake!”

A few minutes later, after waiting the “appropriate steeping time”, they finally get the nod to start, and Nagisa starts wolfing down some shortcake while Rei pours.

“So, Haru, why are you here?” Nagisa asks, spraying crumbs everywhere, much to Rei's chagrin, “not that we don't love having you!”

Haru swallows, anxiety returning. They both look incredibly curious, Rei getting that look on his face, Nagisa literally shaking.

“I need your help,” Haru says quietly, putting down his cup; he's shaking, too. Rei immediately looks concerned, Nagisa confused.

“Makoto, well, asked me to dinner-”

“OHMYGOSH HARU REALLY?” Nagisa cries, bouncing up and down, but Rei lays a hand on his arm, quieting him. His gaze is still troubled. Haru looks at them both; heart aching.

“Did you say yes?”

“I... I did,” Haru mumbles; Nagisa looks like he is about to burst, but the firm hold on his arm keeps him grounded, “I just, I have no idea- what I'm going to do- I've never, it's this Friday, but, what would I even wear-?”

He stops, realising he's babbling now, but Rei and Nagisa smile at each other.

“We can definitely help you, Haru!”

 

-

 

Haru is certain that he has never been this nervous. His shyness earlier is nothing in the face of this impending date; he hasn't been able to eat anything at all, and despite the fact he knows he can't look any different, he's checked the mirror two dozen times in the last half-hour, making tiny, minute adjustments.

He's been checking the clock obsessively, ready for over an hour; 6:58. Any minute now.

At seven on the dot, there is a knock at the door, and Haru feels about ready to jump out of his skin.

 _Deep breaths, Nanase,_ he thinks, _you can do this._

He is torn between the desire to run away and to not keep Makoto waiting a second longer. Shaking slightly, he unlocks the door, opening it. The scent of good cologne is the first thing he notices, green eyes the second, as Makoto stands on the front step, holding a bouquet.

“For you,” Makoto murmurs, and Haru's fingers tremblingly take the lovely flowers, the scent rising from them dizzying.

Haru silently thanks Rei and Nagisa for their help; Makoto is dressed to the nines, absolutely stunning in a suit, tailored, Haru guesses, and his hair looks different, swept neatly backwards. Haru immediately likes it, but he already misses the way it usually frames his eyes.

“Thankyou,” Haru says, nervously, “I'll be right back.”

He has a total of one vase, in which he carefully arranges them before hurrying back to the door, heart pounding.

When he turns from locking the door, he finds Makoto's elbow proffered for him.

He slips his arm into it, blushing furiously.

“You look... stunning, Haru,” he says, eyes soft, leading him to a taxi waiting by the path, opening the door for him.

The restaurant is a seafood one along the boardwalk; in the evening the lights glow gold along the stretch, reflecting on the water, and if you get a window seat you can watch the waves and stars while you eat.

Haru knows this place, it's his favourite. How did Makoto know that? He doesn't remember mentioning it.

Inside, there's a classically romantic table set for two in the best spot by the window; candles, prettily folded napkins, plates edged with a hint of gold.

It is what his own workplace would've looked like if his boss had an ounce of flair or respect for the lovely.

Makoto pulls out Haru's chair, of course, and pours him wine. Haru knows very little about wine, even as a chef, but it tastes alright, he supposes.

Makoto is starry-eyed, asking him all sorts of questions, and Haru makes the effort to answer with more than two words, actually enjoying the attention Makoto is giving him.

His warmed heart stills a little when Makoto asks him about his family.

“You first,” Haru says, stiffening, before adding, “I've been going first all night.”

“I love listening to you speak,” Makoto replies, smiling, “but all right then.”

He takes a sip of wine, before his face becomes slightly distant.

“For a while it was just my mother, father, and I. My father was a fisherman, an excellent fisherman, he'd always remind me,” Makoto says, laughing, “and my mother stayed at home and looked after me. I love them dearly, and I was content with our family.”

He shakes his head, giving a slightly dramatic sigh.

“And then my mother went ahead and had twins. Boy and a girl, Ren and Ran,” he says fondly, “and suddenly I was a big brother, playing with them, helping feed them, watching out for them... ah, I miss it so much sometimes. They're a rambunctious pair, but both very good-hearted.”

“Runs in the family,” Haru murmurs, and Makoto blushes heavily.

“If you say so,” he laughs, “now, I've told you about mine, what about your family, Haruka?”

Haru was dreading it, but he's had years to build up against the resentment that encapsulates thoughts of his parents.

“My father was in trading, a merchant. And my mother kept house, when she wasn't travelling with him,” Haru says, trying to stop his bitterness from seeping into the words, “they were very... business-minded.”

Nothing seems to miss Makoto, however, and he squeezes Haru's hand.

“I'm sorry if family is a painful subject,” he says, sincerely, and Haru shakes his head.

“Only my parents were... cold,” Haru replies, warming as Makoto brushes his thumb back and forth, completely absorbed on Haru's words, “I did get along extremely well with my grandmother.”

Makoto smiles softly.

“She was the only one that really... nurtured me,” Haru murmurs, “she knew I had no interest in my father's business. Nor amassing money, for that matter. And she supported me, especially after I showed interest in... the culinary arts, she would say.”

Makoto nods.

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” Makoto says.

“She was... she taught me a lot, I miss her.”

There's such tenderness in Makoto's gaze that Haru looks away, feeling overwhelmed that it is directed at him. The waves are beyond the boardwalk are black, only lit in the highest points by the moon. Haru always feels it's pull, dark and powerful and unfathomable, and it's-

“Beautiful.”

Haru can see in his peripheries that Makoto is not looking at the sea. They hold each other's gaze for a moment, before Makoto breaks the spell with a small smile.

“Would you like some dessert, Haruka?” he asks, and Haru drags himself back to the now.

“I couldn't eat another bite,” he replies honestly, and Makoto nods.

“Would you like to have a walk by the ocean? It's such a clear evening,” he murmurs.

“That would be... lovely,” Haru replies.

Makoto insists on paying for the both of them, and Haru wonders if there is some sort of checklist when he's offered Makoto's coat against the wind chill of the ocean evening.

“Are you sure?” Makoto says fretfully, holding it out.

“I'm fine, really,” Haru murmurs.

It turns out to be a short walk, as Haru does actually start to feel a real chill settling in, and Makoto ushers him into a taxi, putting his jacket around Haru's shoulders.

A strange sense of foreboding rises in Haru's chest as his house comes into view, but he squashes it, making sure it doesn't show as Makoto escorts him to the door.

“This is yours,” Haru says, handing Makoto his jacket, and unlocking his front door.

He swallows, turning back around, resisting the urge to say a quick thanks and leave, instead meeting Makoto on the step.

“Thankyou for the lovely evening, Haruka,” Makoto says softly, stepping a little closer.

“I should be thanking you,” Haru replies, heat warming his cheeks. They're close, now, very close, as Makoto gently takes his arm, head moving down.

It feels natural, leaning in to meet him, but something switches on in Haru's head as hot breath wisps over his lips, the first claws of panic digging into his chest.

_What did Makoto know about him, really? It was a first date, he's too kind to reject him halfway through, if he really knew Haru he wouldn't be doing this. Does he like Haru? Do you actually want this, Haru? Do you know anything you want?_

Makoto pauses when he notices the blank, distant look on Haru's face.

“Haruka...?”

Haru springs back, blinking, anxiety flaring in his chest. Makoto steps back, looking horrified.

“Oh, I'm sorry Haruka, I shouldn't have-”

Any remaining resolve on Haru's part breaks at the expression on his face, and he turns, fleeing inside the house. He doesn't look back to Makoto as he shuts the door, heart pounding as his panic attack quickly reduces his breathing capabilities.

Bath, oh god, he needs a bath.

He races up the stairs, not daring to look outside, lest he see Makoto's face.

 

-

 

“Oh, jasmine and ranunculus,” Rei muses, leaning to examine Haru's bouquet, “what an interesting combination. Very... spring.”

He hangs his coat up on the hook, so the sleeves are at the same height, Haru notices.

“Flower arranging is typically seen as a feminine pursuit, but there is definite benefit to the art, it can really enhance a room, and the meaning attributed to flower type and colour can add another layer to your living space.”

Haru lets him talk, musing about the warzone that was the pre-renovated house of Hazuki Nagisa and Ryuugazaki Rei.

Haru loves them both dearly, but he is gratified that today it is just the dependable presence of Rei; he is not sure if he can handle a million questions from Nagisa.

They both take tea, Rei chatting about upcoming exams for his students and Nagisa's proposed field study, but Haru knows they are both waiting until an appropriate amount of time has passed before he asks. He's very attuned to that kind of thing.

“So, I... must ask lest Nagisa come around here after work,” he starts, and Haru sighs.

“I don't know how to take that,” Rei continues worriedly, putting down his tea cup, eyebrows quirking in concern.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Haru says quietly, “truly lovely.”

And too-afraid-of-intimacy Haru ruined it.

“Did he try to force something at the conclusion of the evening?” Rei asks shrewdly, a slight tint of anger coming to his expression, almost invisible under layers of concern. Haru quickly shakes his head, expelling a breath.

“No,” he almost whispers, “it wasn't forced at all.”

He glances over at the vase, distressed.

“Rei,” Haru says quietly, not wanting to admit he just couldn't handle a simple kiss, “did you say flowers have... meanings?”

Rei pauses, glancing at the blue vase.

“Grace, elegance, radiance, for that particular arrangement,” Rei says softly, “... what happened?”

“He tried to kiss me,” Haru blurts, before colouring slightly, “no, we tried to kiss each other, but I-”

He shakes his head, words catching in his throat in sheer embarrasment.

“I froze up,” he whispers, “I couldn't do it, and I... bolted.”

Rei has impeccable manners, but Haru can see his hands itching to cover his face, the slightest wave of pity washing over his face.

“Bolted...?”

“Well, we were near my open door... so I ran inside. And shut the door. Then turned off all the lights and sat in the bath.”

Rei is silent, and Haru is guessing he finds this strange even for the socially-repulsed him.

“I... see.”

Haru puts his head in his hands. There's a light pressure on his shoulder after a few seconds, and he looks up.

“Makoto seems like a very reasonable person,” he says, “he would understand if you were nervous. And all you have to do is explain, he'll listen.”

Haru nods.

“I know... I'm just, so terrible at this.”

“No one's born good at it,” Rei says wisely, “some are just better equipped when they start trying.”

“Not me.”

“Maybe not, but you... enjoy Tachibana's company, yes?”

“Yes,” Haru breathes, of course he does.

“Well, you both have excellent motivation,” he half-jokes, “just tell him on Saturday evening.”

“It's easy to say,” Haru says listlessly, and Rei finishes;

“Not easy to do, I know.”

 

-

 

His Friday lunch shift always seems to take the longest with the weekend in sight, and today Haru feels particularly antsy, rolling conversation over in his head.

He's checking the sharpness of his knives when his manager pops her head in, biting her lip.

“Haruka, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes, Kou?” Haru asks. She fidgets a little, and a swoop of foreboding goes through his gut.

“We need you to work tomorrow... evening.”

Haru's stomach bottoms out, and he blinks several times as he tries to process what has just happened, and then try to find some way out. Kou notices his reticence, hurriedly going on.

“I wouldn't ask unless it was very important,” she says, slightly nervously. No one in the restaurant has seen Haru angry before, and she clearly has no idea what to expect. Luckily for her, the frustration in his gut is closer to cold fury rather than hot, roiling anger.

“I assume my plans make no difference?” Haru all but snaps. How in the hell is he supposed to talk to Makoto now? If anything, this will look like he's actively avoiding the man. God, he feels sick even thinking about it.

Kou looks very anxious now, but she shakes her head minutely.

“I know it doesn't matter that much to you, but you'll be paid double for the shift,” she says, hands twisting.

No, Haru didn't care one bit about the money.

“We just have a profilic critic and they're coming in tomorrow,” Kou pleads, “and they've specifically requested one of your dishes, Haruka.”

Reminding himself carefully that this is Rin's sister, and anything he says will undoubtably find its way back to that hothead, no matter the context, he grits his teeth as he evenly replies.

“And I'll have to be the head chef the entire evening, correct?”

Kou nods, eyes bright with anxiety.

“I'm really sorry, but we really need you here, please, Haruka.”

Haru turns stiffly away, jerking his head. He knows this isn't Kou's directive, and usually he doesn't shoot the messenger, but it's hard not to feel incredibly resentful towards her.

“I don't really have a choice.”

She remains silently for a moment, before taking that as begrudging assent, _which it is,_ Haru thinks bitterly.

He's certain everyone else can feel something's not quite right with him as they arrive, that or Kou has told them to give him a wide physical and social berth.

The next evening, he is irascible, completely unapproachable. Rei and Nagisa have already promised to try and convince Makoto he is not being avoided, but Haru is cursing himself. Why didn't he have a phone? If he at least had Makoto's phone number he would be able to explain.

But he's not even sure if he was capable of that, being so goddamn afraid of getting close to anyone, so unbelievably stupid.

He doesn't even bother to acknowledge the praise his food is being given during the evening, only looking up to check the orders.

None of them are going to think he is in anyway okay with this. Immature? Maybe. Unprofessional? Yes.

He doesn't fuck up the food, the only reason he's here is because he doesn't want to be fired, but he does his utmost to exude nothing but cold disdain, even keeping his thanks to the critic to the barest minimum.

Kou silently hands him his paycheck at closing, wisely keeping silent, and he doesn't give her another glance as he leaves.

 

-

 

On Monday he's told he has Wednesday off due to his shift trade, which he couldn't care less about anyway. He'll spend it soaking in his tub.

On Tuesday, a flustered Nagisa appears at his apartment door and tells him to go see Makoto in person and also to stop sulking because Makoto will understand because he's super nice.

“I don't know where he lives, I don't even know his number,” Haru says irritably, and Nagisa rolls his eyes.

“Just go to his work, Haru! You know where he works, right?”

He did know actually, and on Wednesday afternoon he finds himself navigating the small school, surreptitiously peering into classrooms as he walks by them. Students are flooding the halls, mainly ignoring him, and he feels a little panicked, skidding to a halt when he spots him in an otherwise empty classroom.

Haru watches him at his desk, tidying up, and his mouth goes dry. Oh, he'll never be ready to do this, he can't make himself speak up.

So he stands dumbly in the open doorway until Makoto picks up his bag and goes to leave, letting time solve his nerves for him.

Makoto almost jolts when their eyes meet, his mouth falling open in surprise.

“Haruka...” he says softly, face tightening a little, mouth quirking upwards in a plastic smile, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you... and apologise,” Haru replies, “can I just...?”

He steps in, shutting the door behind him, so he and Makoto are alone in the classroom. Makoto's brow furrows a little, but he puts his bag down, giving Haru his full attention.

“There's nothing to apologise for,” Makoto says, “I was too forward.”

“You weren't,” Haru insists, “and I shouldn't have run off like that. I am really sorry.”

Makoto looks downward, crossing his arms in an uncharacteristic display of despondancy.

“I'm surprised to see you here, I didn't think you wanted anything more to do with me.”

His voice is a little desolate, and Haru's heart aches for him.

“That's not true!” he says, a little desperately, and the urgency of his tone jolts Makoto's gaze upward, “I had to take a shift at work, I wanted to see you-”

Makoto tilts his head, still not smiling, but little more hopeful, at least.

“-and, well, I ran off because, well, I've never... done that before. Any of it.”

He feels strangely uncomfortable admitting that the date, the wonderfully romantic, lovely date, had no yardstick because it was his first.

“I panicked, it wasn't because of you,” Haru finishes, “the last thing I want is to stop seeing you.”

Makoto moves, and Haru's heart jumps into his throat as he takes his hands, encasing them.

“Haru...”

Makoto's voice shakes slightly, and Haru grips his hand a little more tightly.

“I was... I was wondering, if you wanted to spend more time together, you would possibly like to- to come to my home, perhaps this Friday...?” he asked, blush on his cheeks, and Haru's heart stops.

He's anxious, but that isn't the question he's being asked.

“Yes, I would,” Haru replies, and Makoto beams, hands going to his pockets. He pulls out paper and a pen from his desk, starting to scribble.

“Here's the address,” he says, holding out the paper, and Haru carefully tucks it into his front pocket.

“It's quite a small house, but it has a green mailbox, and, uh, a white door,” he says, blushing, “and there will most likely be a cat hanging around, too.”

“What time would you like me there?” Haru asks, and Makoto flushes deeper.

“I- I know this sounds a little silly, but, would you mind... uh, supervising while I make dinner?” he asks, seemingly mortified, “I would hate to give you something inedible. With me, it's a strong possibility.”

Haru nods.

“That's fine,” he replies, _it's nothing to be ashamed of_ , he wants to add, but Makoto seems to relax anyway, lips quirking upwards bashfully.

“Is... 6pm alright?” Makoto queries, and Haru nods.

“That's fine.”

 

-

 

Makoto's house is as small as he suggested, wedged in between two identical houses, a narrow two-storey. His has more character, Haru thinks, with a bright green mailbox, white-painted fence and a garden bursting with colourful flowers. A white cat lounges in the dusk shade of a hydrangea bush, blinking up at him with wide green eyes. It's very friendly, meowing and rubbing against his pant leg, and if Haru didn't have his hands full, he would quite like to pet it.

With a little trouble, he steps around the cat, and knocks, hearing a little muffled oh! from inside.

“Ah! Haru, do come in,” Makoto murmurs, opening the door to let him inside.

The house seems to envelop him with warmth as he steps in, and Haru pauses to look at the photos on the walls, family portraits, with Makoto smiling next to his lovely parents and steadily-growing children that must have been his siblings.

“Let me get your coat,” Makoto says, pausing when he notices the covered dish, “oh!”

“I made us dinner,” Haru said quietly, and Makoto starts stammering.

“O-oh Haru, I-I'm supposed to d-do that, I-I'm the host!” he splutters, but Haru just walks into the narrow kitchen, putting it on the counter.

“Set the table then, I'll get this ready,” Haru says, before feeling a tug on his shoulders. Makoto is red, looking a little exasperated, but a little pleased, too.

“At least let me get your coat,” he says, and Haru lets him slide it off.

“I don't have a dining room, I'm afraid,” Makoto calls, and Haru can hear the clink of glasses and cutlery, “but the living room table should be enough.”

Haru simply hums in reply, unwrapping the meal from foil. Makoto makes an appreciative noise as the scent of lamb wafts through the hall.

“Oh, that smells amazing,” he gushes, coming in to gaze at it.

“I'm almost done, please take the plates.”

Haru pauses as he steps into the living slash dining room, wanting to drink it in. Makoto's stoked the small fireplace, placed candles on the small dining table. There is a squashy, comfortable-looking sofa and armchair in front of the fire, a bookcase, a radio, and in the corner is a rather fine record player, quietly playing light piano music.

Haru really likes this house.

“Haru?”

Makoto is standing by the table, holding out a chair.

“Your home is lovely,” Haru tells him as he sits down, and Makoto flushes, beaming at him.

“I'm glad you think so,” he smiles, before offering a bottle to him, “wine?”

It's not usually Haru's drink, but he accepts, his skin buzzing as they settle down, just the two of them.

“Thank you for the food,” Makoto murmurs.

Haru's pleased at the expression of delight that forms on Makoto's face as he takes a bite, fork hovering in midair as he chews.

“This tastes incredible, Haruka,” Makoto gushes, closing his eyes and holding a hand over his heart, “it's overwhelming.”

“I- thankyou, I'm glad,” Haru replies, extremely gratified.

“I'm relieved you won't be subjected to my cooking, at least not tonight,” he says, laughing a little, “ but I must make this up somehow.”

“Think about that later,” Haru says, continuing to eat, cheeks heating.

He receives a knowing little smile in return, and there isn't much speaking as they eat, both seemingly content to listen to the crackle of the fire and the piano from the player. Haru's heart jumps every so often when their eyes meet, and he cannot hold Makoto's gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Well, I didn't expect to have all this time,” Makoto says as he finishes, laying his cutlery down, “my attempts at cooking often take an hour or two.”

Haru nods, wiping his mouth.

Makoto looks at him oddly, dabbing his lip with a napkin. He slowly gets up, and Haru watches as he puts a record on the player in the corner, setting the needle down carefully.

Haru feels stripped back when Makoto looks at him again, laid bare, by the intensity of his gaze, only barely registering his hand slowly extending outwards.

“Haru, would you...?”

The music is different to the style played at the music hall; all soft and slow, there was nothing quick or jumpy, and it excited Haru in a different way, warming his core.

Haru takes Makoto's hand, moving to the center of his living room, and when it closes, his thumb caresses Haru's fingers.

His face is filled with warmth, and Haru is suddenly aware of how awed he is; that affection is directed at him, him alone.

Makoto begins to lead him, and they circle slowly, Haru never taking his eyes off Makoto's face.

“Like this, softly, feel the music...”

His hand slides down, around Haru's waist, and for the first time, he presses, pulling them together, so Haru can see every shade of green in the wells of his eyes, unable to look away.

“Haru,” he says, very, very softly, linking their fingers together, “did I ever tell you how beautiful I think you are?”

He says it so honestly, every word laced with conviction and warmth, and Haru's heart flutters in his chest. They are so close, he wonders if Makoto can feel it.

“I was struck by it the moment I saw you,” he continues, hardly blinking, “and I couldn't resist asking for just one dance.”

“I was... staring at you, that night,” Haru replies, weakly, “I... couldn't look away.”

Makoto's face, suffused in the warm candlelight, softens further, and he lets go of Haru's hand to touch his fingers to Haru's face. They're trembling slightly, Haru notes, half-closing his eyes, skin alight where Makoto strokes it.

“Your's is the only invitation I ever accepted,” Haru says, and Makoto looks almost lost, gazing at him with such intensity. The music is so soft, wrapping them together as they move, and Haru just wants to stay here forever, in this beautiful room, with it's beautiful owner.

“Surely you must have danced before, Haruka?” Makoto whispers in wonder, “you move so gracefully, so beautifully...”

“Never with such a perfect partner.”

Electricity seems to race in every nerve in his lips, as Makoto presses against them with his own, and Haru feels pleasure coursing through him, curling his fingers and toes.

He gasps lightly as they pull apart, light-headed and dizzy from such feeling. Makoto looks the same way, but he takes Haru's chin, and lightly pecks his lips again, sighing in contentment.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time,” he says softly, tucking Haru's hair behind his ear.

“We have all evening,” Haru murmurs in reply, wrapping his arms around Makoto's waist. He sighs, right into Haru's ear, and a shiver runs up Haru's spine as he kisses him, just below the air. Slowly, lovingly, he pecks downward, leaving a trail of sparks under Haru's skin. In the crook of his neck, he laps, mouth hot and wet, and Haru moans, gripping at the back of Makoto's shirt, head lolling back.

“Ah, Makoto,” he whispers, and he looks down to see the pair of green eyes, gazing at him with reverance.

Makoto's head moves upward, hot breath skating along Haru's skin.

The hand slides past his waist, resting at the hem of his pants, and Haru sucks in a breath, stiffening.

“I've never-” Haru whispers, and that's enough. Makoto shakes his head, running circles into his back.

“It's okay, Haru, I don't want you to feel forced to do anything,” Makoto says, “ever.”

“I couldn't feel forced around you, even if I tried,” Haru replies.

Makoto smiles; but a flicker of surprise comes over his face as Haru grips his wrist insistently, biting his lip.

“What's wrong, Haru?”

Haru swallows thickly; he can do this, he wants to do this...

“I want to... see you, Makoto,” Haru says, “and I want you to see me.”

Makoto nods slowly, a little confused, and leads Haru to his bedroom; modest and rather small, but warm, homey. Makoto turns on a single lamp, throwing them into light and soft shadow.

His eyes widen as Haru's hands loosen his shirt, plucking open the buttons, and Haru wonders if he can feel the slight trembling of his fingers.

He slides the shirt off Makoto's shoulders; and damn, Haru thinks, if he isn't stunning there too, circling to see his built back, amazing.

“Haru,” Makoto whimpers, and Haru lets him do the same, and both their shirts lie on the floor as they stare at each other.

Haru cannot even think of taking Makoto's belt off, and instead slides off his own, and Makoto copies him, eyes not leaving his face.

Makoto is shaking slightly when Haru kisses him, running a hand down his cheek, laying it on his shoulder.

Green eyes move slowly upwards, a gentle hand trailing along his side, and meets his eyes again, a question in them.

“You're... perfect, Makoto,” Haru murmurs, back of his fingers touching his chest, and Makoto closes his hand over it.

It's strange, but Haru is disconcerted by his utter lack of anxiety as they lie together, he's nervous, but Makoto is so careful, guiding Haru to the bed, looking so very content as he settles next to him.

His hand slowly strokes Haru's hair, a strip of green looking at him in awe.

“I could stay here forever,” he says softly, thumb curving the shell of his ear, “I feel so... peaceful with you, Haru...”

Haru moves closer, and he puts his head on Makoto's chest, hiding his blushing face.

“Makoto,” he murmurs, and arms wrap around him; and Haru fits there perfectly, like he's always meant to be here, with the green-eyed man that filled him with such strange longing.

“I- I don't know why, Haru,” Makoto whispers, and in his chest, Haru can feel his heart beating, “but I feel like I've known you before. This all feels so... right.”

He curves his head down, so his lips are in Haru's hair.

“I've never felt this way before, Haru.”

Haru doesn't respond, but somehow, he innately believes that Makoto understands, in the way Haru curls against him, arm tightening around his waist, that Haru feels the same. For the first time, he truly thinks words are not necessary.

The sensation of Makoto's beating heart is the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep.

 

-

 

Haru wakes first, in the grey of pre-dawn.

Makoto's arms are still around him, and now their legs are tangled together. Haru lies there for a while, so sleepily comfortable, but as the sun rose, warming the curtains, he started to move. Carefully rising, Makoto's arms sliding down around his waist, Haru propped himself on the pillow by Makoto's sleeping face.

Haru touched his fingers to his slightly tanned skin, running them up and down his cheek. His lashes were a beautiful, soft brown, like his hair, his eyebrows strangely slender. Haru ran a thumb across one, heart fluttering. He continues to explore, to absorb every minute detail of Makoto's face, His strong cheekbones, lightly curved jaw, the bridge of his nose, the slight roughness to his skin. Haru was struck, again, by how handsome he was, but the usual flutter of inadequacy in his chest was dulled, doubtful. Makoto made no secret of how he felt, and Haru is certain that while he doesn't think himself anything interesting, Makoto does.

He sighs, twirling one of Makoto's locks, watching the olive locks move around his finger, unaware of the gaze levelled at him.

A kiss, careful and sweet, is pressed to his jawline, and Haru almost jumps.

Makoto is smiling with a hint of amusement, and he sits up, tilting his head adorably.

“Is this another dream?” he murmurs, “if it is... I want to remain asleep.”

Haru kisses him back, eyebrow raising, _is that enough of an answer for you?_ and Makoto laughs.

“Haru,” he breathes, and gives him another kiss, and another, and Haru feels as if his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

They lie together for awhile, gazing at one another, limbs entangled, before Makoto makes some off-hand comment about breakfast when his stomach rumbles.

Haru makes it, reminding Makoto of “burnt toast”, and the brunet bustles around, fetching coffee, and cute striped mugs, before settling down. He's seemingly content to watch the raven cook up eggs and bacon with practised ease while the coffee filters. Pale sunlight streams into the kitchen, and Haru's heart stops for a second when he turns with the plates. Makoto is sitting with his back to the window, watching him so fondly, and for a moment Haru can imagine this every morning. It warms him deeply.

“Here,” he says, putting the food down.

“Thankyou for the food,” Makoto murmurs, as Haru sits.

“Eat it before it goes cold,” he says, pouring himself coffee.

“Ohh, these are delicious,” Makoto moans, mouth full of egg, “so good.”

Haru hums, pleased, taking a sip of coffee as Makoto tucks in. He does want to do this more often.

“I should thank Nagisa,” Haru muses, watching Makoto stir three sugar cubes into his own cup.

“Hm? He seems like a good friend, what did he do?”

Haru smiled softly.

“He's the reason I even went out that evening... I might... never have met you otherwise.”

It seems impossible, not knowing Makoto, not having him in his life. Makoto seems to think similarily, a pensive look coming over his face.

“Maybe... maybe not, Haru,” he says softly, and Haru loves those two syllables in his voice, “I... it sounds strange, but I feel we would have met eventually.”

As he says it, Haru can almost feel it too, a strange tug in his heart, as if it's magnetised to the incredible person sitting across from him. He feels a _satisfaction_ in his chest, the sense that everything is well filling his heart, an absence of which he had not noticed until he had ran from Makoto that evening.

He can't pin it down exactly, but when his eyes find those beloved green ones he feels giddy, excited, loving and loved. The partner to his soul.

“I feel it too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> therewillbecubes.tumblr.com


End file.
